Saturday, 14 November 2009

Of the white page, its ability toHarbour an illimitable conception. I'll sail through zero into paradise.I'll summon white thought streaming through the paleVeins of the white leaf. I'll watch it sink intoThe watermark and insinuate the margins The way a sailors' girl beckons from the shade ofA lamp, whose illumination also fallsTo its knees before the grand fog incoming.

While I did like how the earlier version played the vividly colorful imaginary perfection against the as yet unblemished page, and against expectation, even though all the colors of the spectrum add up to white, when reading that version they kind of remained distinct on my mental retina. Here the rhythmic statements of purpose and their imagery really capture the seductive excitement and power of possibility before luffing our sails.

Yes I believe you do just that, with your blank pages.I don't know if I mentioned before, but your 'titles' always draw me in too.Not only words in the body of your Poems, but also the 'titles' play awhile in my brain.

To cause brain-sticking and give chicken skin I would hold as the highest objectives of a writer.

(Emaciated geezer passes mirror, sees chicken skin every time. Awk!)

Annie,

Yes, this is the digitally scrubbed version. Laundry night every night down home in the Blogger temple. Always leave 'em luffing, my new motto.

Leigh,

Yes, how beautiful the blank canvas, how inviting, how intimidating, how fresh, how clean, how challenging and demanding.

SarahA,

As always you are my closest noticer. I think of these posts as conversations in which the conversing parties are: the titles; the images; the texts; the attributions. The titles start the conversation off.